Sherlocked
by Ms.AnimeManga4ever
Summary: Every time John went to Sherlock's grave, it would always start to rain... Would this visit be different?
1. Reunion

The threat of rain was evident in the smell of the air and the clouds in the sky. This always seemed to happen. Every time John went to Sherlock's grave, it would always start to rain; as if the weather knew how John felt. Of course John knew that wasn't true. He chuckled half-heartedly to himself as he sat on the ground, in front of the stone that marked his dear friend. Sherlock would deem him an idiot for the umpteenth time if he knew he was thinking that. It was obviously impossible. Still, John found it rather gloomy that he had to bring an umbrella with him every time. Once he didn't bring it with him even though it was obvious it could pour any second. He left it at home in hope that it would start to poor, and John would be left sitting there, soaking wet in the rain. That's when it would suddenly become dry where he was and he would look up. And there would be his best friend, giving him a look that said, I never believed you could be that stupid; yet here you are. John shook his head.

"No matter how much you wish it, it can't happen you bloody idiot. He's…" John still couldn't bring himself to say the word. That would mean he would have to except the truth. Even after so long he couldn't believe that. Not after all they had been through. Not after all Sherlock given him. He just couldn't except that their friendship, anything that had to do with Sherlock, was over.

John started when his phone went off. It was a text. Which was odd; the people he knew didn't really text him. John opened the message.

_221B_

_-SH_

His eyes got wider and wider. So wide it felt like they would pop out of his head. He had to be dreaming. It couldn't be possible. But who was John to deny what was obviously right in front of his face. This is what he had wanted, the miracle he asked for. He couldn't just deny it now. Finally his brain started functioning and he shot up and bolted for the street. As soon as he saw a cab at the end of the road, he started waving about like a mad man. Before the car had even stopped he opened the door and jumped in, practically shouting the address at the driver.

"221B Baker Street!" John couldn't sit still as the cabby drove to his former flat. His foot would not still and his fingers would not stop. Every position was uncomfortable. The driver kept looking back at him through the rear view mirror.

"Got someone important to meet?"

"I'm seeing my best friend for the first time in a long while." He answered absently. "I still can't believe this is even happening." After what seemed like ages they finally pulled up to the curb and came to a stop in front of the door. Suddenly John felt nervous. He couldn't seem to make himself move, and as he sat there, the doubt started settling in.

_ What if it's not him? What if someone's just trying to get my attention and knew this would be the best way. I could be walking into a trap. But then again, when has that ever stopped me from going to Sherlock?_

"This is something you've been looking forward to right?" John looked up.

"I'm sorry?"

"You've been waiting for this haven't you?" He nodded.

"For a very long time; I've been earnestly wishing for this day."

"And it's your best friend, correct?" John nodded again. "Then there's no need to worry. He'll be just as happy to see you as you are to see him. Maybe even more so." The driver smiled at him. "Now you go in there." John smiled back and handed him the cash.

Standing in front of the door, his stomach was in knots. As he reached to ring the bell, John noticed the door slightly ajar and let himself in, closing the door softly behind him. Slowly he walked up the steps, listening to their familiar creak. Now he found himself standing in front of another door. _Their door._ With shaky hands he reached under his shirt and pulled out a chain. John took the key and after a couple tries was able to slide it into the lock. Hearing a click he withdrew it and let it fall back against his chest. John could feel his heart pounding and hear it reverberating in his ears. Trying to calm himself he took a deep breath and slowly turned the knob. He looked up and froze in the doorway at the sight of a man with brown curly hair facing the fireplace. Sherlock turned and gave John a smile.

"Why hello John, fancy meeting you here." John still couldn't move. Sherlock walked over and stood in front of him. "Is something the matter? You're acting quite strange." He couldn't even think. All John could do was raise his hand and poke Sherlock on the chest. As if in a trance he moved his hand so it rested palm flat on his chest as he stared at his hand covering his friend's heart. His friends _beating_ heart; which actually seemed to be racing just as fast as his was. Finally John slowly lifted his head up with tears in his eyes to look at Sherlock's face. He gazed into his friend's eyes that looked to be a little moist as well. His breath hitched, and in a faint voice that one could only hear in such close proximity, he whispered.

"Sherlock?" And in the second after his name was spoken with a soft quiver, Sherlocked roughly and swiftly pulled John into a hug. His voice was also soft, and trembled as he spoke.

"Yes, John. My dear best friend I am here. I'm here."


	2. Tea?

So, I know I said it was complete, but I wanted to continue their reunion. Now it'll be complete. Or I'll just continue to add one-shots to this.

**~!THERE IS SOME STRONG LANGUAGE IN THIS!~**

After a while John pulled back. They sat on the floor looking at each other, waiting for the other to do something. John did something all right. He punched Sherlock in the face, avoiding his nose and teeth. Sherlock's head jerked around and he looked back at John with mild shock. A bruise was already starting form on his cheek. A tear had slipped down John's cheek; he looked sad, relieved, happy, and furious all at once.

"What the hell Sherlock?" He shouted. "What was the fucking point of faking your own suicide and not telling me? I thought you were dead damn it!" John leaned forward, breathing hard. His body was shaking. Sherlock didn't know what to do. He hadn't expected John to react this way. He thought he would be upset, but he didn't think his suicide would have shaken him this much.

"I'm sorry John. I just had to get them all off my back. Everything was happening too fast for me to tell you."Sherlock didn't usually apologize, but he knew that here it was appropriate.

"Well you can tell me now."

"I will."

"Just promise me something."

"What?"

"Don't leave me like that again." Sherlock looked closely at John and deduced just exactly what John was feeling and what he was thinking.

"I won't do something like that to you again." He smiled halfheartedly.

"Good." Sherlock stood up and offered his friend a hand. "Tea?"

"Sure." As John started to walk to the kitchen Sherlock grabbed his forearm. John turned around and looked at his friend, confused.

"What is it?" Wordlessly Sherlock stepped into John's space and kissed him. It was light, but held an almost undetected urgency in the way Sherlock pressed his mouth against his.

"I missed you." John smiled a real smile.

"I missed you too you ass." Sherlock chuckled.


	3. Bored

He couldn't take it anymore-he'd just about had enough. Sherlock was so _bored. _They hadn't gotten a new case for two days. Two damn days! He wasn't even thinking at this point using his brain was so irrelevant. Sherlock heard the door knob turn. John was finally back from grocery shopping.

"Bored."

"Sherlock, saying you're bored isn't going to make you any less bored than you already are." John took off his coat and put it in the closet.

"It would if you'd do something about it."

"It's not my job to give you something to do Sherlock."

"Bored!"

"What if you did another experiment?" John asked as he walked over to Sherlock.

"I conducted one yesterday."

"Then conduct another one." Sherlock closed his eyes."

"I don't want to." Exasperated, John leaned over his friend.

"If you're never bored then you won't appreciate all the excitement of a case." Sherlock rested his hands on his stomach.

"I suppose so." John uncharacteristically smirked.

"You know I'm right."

"Not entirely." John shook his head. "But I see your point." He smiled in satisfaction; Sherlock actually didn't call him an idiot. "How do you not get bored?"

"I have an actual job and do things that keep me busy. While you just mope about the flat because you don't have anything to solve." John didn't get an answer. "What, no sarcastic comment?" Still nothing. "Sherlock?" John searched Sherlock's face for a reaction, but his features didn't change.

_I guess he fell asleep._

John smiled at his friend. He looked so peaceful when he slept-and vulnerable. His expression was always guarded, but when just he and John were together, he would open up. John didn't think Sherlock was even aware of what he was doing. Sometimes he could be more oblivious than he made himself out to be. Of course John would never say that out loud. It would piss his flat mate off to no end. It was true though. Somehow he was completely oblivious to John's feeling for him. Unless he was just pretending he wasn't aware.

Before John could process what he was doing, he leaned closer to Sherlock's face.

_I shouldn't be doing this._

But he did it anyway. John planted a light kiss on his flat mate's forehead. When he pulled back, he saw Sherlock staring at him and his entire face turned scarlet. Sherlock looked surprised, pleased, and smug that he caught his friend in the act.

"Do you always kiss me when I'm asleep John?" Flustered and embarrassed, John stuttered out a denial.

"Of course not, don't be absurd." Sherlock gave him a look that clearly said 'I don't believe you'. "I swear that was the first time!" Sherlock just grinned at him.


	4. Just an experiment?

**~LEMON~(well, sort of. I've only ever done fluff)**

"Was it just an experiment?"

"Was what an experiment?" Sherlock asked John absently as he looked through his microscope in the kitchen. John blushed at the memory of the head kiss debacle. Nothing had happened-which was rather disappointing-and led him to the doubts he'd been having and the prospect that he had just been a subject of another one of Sherlock's experiments.

"The kiss," John stated as he stared at his laptop.

"You initiated it," He called, still not looking at his flat mate in the living room. John sunk into his chair.

"I mean the fact that you pretended to be asleep to see what I would do."

"While I did want to see what you would do, it wasn't for an experiment. I simply wanted to see if my observations were correct."

"Oh." To John's disappointment, he didn't seem to want to do anything about his results. After a couple seconds of silence John felt a tap on his knee. He looked up to see his friend leaning over him. Sherlock was smirking a little.

"I planned on doing something about it; I was just waiting for you to say something. That way I would know you won't fight my advances." John's eyes expanded and Sherlock's smirk widened.

"…So you…"

"Yes John." Sherlock's voice held so much lust in it that John shivered and felt tingles shoot down his spine. It wasn't the only place he felt tingle. Sherlock placed his hands on either one of John's thighs to support himself as he kneeled down to John's level. Slowly he leaned into John and pressed his lips as lightly as he could against his flat mate's. John's eyes closed immediately and started to kiss back, but quick as a flash he was slanting away, John following him unconsciously. Sherlock chuckled as he pushed John back. His best friend started to protest and Sherlock decided he would prolong his friend's pleasure. Sherlock wanted to make John yearn for him. And yearn for him John did. Keeping him back, Sherlock lightly ran his forefinger over John's lips and across his jawline. He continued down his neck and along his collarbone. From here he dragged all his fingers down his chest, his stomach, until he stopped right at his groin. Here John twitched, causing Sherlock to smirk in triumph. He repeated this, except this time with his lips. And when he got to the end of his path John jerked violently and whimpered. At this point John overpowered his best friend and launched himself onto Sherlock, knocking him to the floor in the process. His mouth crashed onto Sherlock's and a fire so hot and addicting flared through their veins, prompting them to kiss as deeply as they could. Their tongues danced, teeth bit each other's lower lip. John was sitting right on Sherlock's hips, lying flat out on top of him as he straddled his love. Their hands were all over the place-in each other's hair, on each other's bodies. Each at one point thought that they should move to a bed room and continue there, but the thought was chased away as fast as it had come as the other would try to pull him closer. Soon the contact wasn't enough, and Sherlock was ripping off John's sweater as John was pulling down his pants. In a flurry clothes were strewn about the room as they tossed them out of the way until they were completely naked. Painting, John pulled back for air and Sherlock seized him-throwing him over his shoulder- and carried him to his bed. He threw John down and threw himself over him, attacking his lips immediately. At one point he broke away again and nibbled on John's neck, eliciting a moan from him. In turn John broke away and did the same to Sherlock. His noise of pleasure aroused John more and he burst, right along with his friend. Eventually they found themselves under the covers, panting in rhythm.

"God, I love you." John gasped between breaths.

"And I love you, John." They kissed once more before falling asleep, entangled limb among limb, not letting go of each other even in sleep.

Gregg ran up the stairs and burst through the flat, noting the clothes thrown across the room, but casting this observation aside in his haste. The case he had been given was nearly impossible, and he couldn't solve it without Sherlock and John. He dashed through Sherlock's door and stopped dead in his tracks, feeling himself heat in embarrassment from toe to head. There were John and Sherlock, bodies tangled, sheets around their waists and knotted about their feet, completely passed out and looking happy and content in a way he had never seen. His face feeling a thousand degrees, Lestrade backed out of the room and tried avoiding looking at the pair's clothes as he walked back through the front door.

_I'll call him from the office and have them come in._


	5. Can't help worrying

"Well, good night Sherlock." John's flat mate didn't even spare him a glance.

"Good night." John went to go upstairs but paused.

"You should really get some sleep tonight. It's been a week now."

"Don't worry about it, I'm fine." John sighed.

"I just can't help it." At that Sherlock looked up from his work, but his friend had already gone.

In the morning John walked into the kitchen to get some breakfast before work. When he walked in he found Sherlock's head on his arms, sound asleep at the table.

"I told him he needed sleep." John chuckled to himself. He put a blanket over his friend before he continued to get ready for work.

Sherlock woke up and was momentarily confused. Then he got mad at himself for falling asleep when he was in the middle of experimenting for a case. Sherlock smiled when he noticed the blanket. It was obviously John that had put it on him. Looking at the clock in the kitchen Sherlock blanched. He had been asleep all day.

"Wait, shouldn't John be back by now?" Puzzled, Sherlock looked around the flat. John wasn't there. "Maybe he went out to buy groceries." But when Sherlock looked in the fridge they had plenty of food. "Where the hell is he?"

Hey, why aren't you home?

-SH

After sending John a text, Sherlock went back to his experiment.

Thirty minutes passed and he didn't get an answer. Sherlock tried calling John but got his voicemail.

"Maybe he's with Lestrade." Sherlock dialed the officer.

Greg was sitting at his desk at Scotland Yard, going through boring paperwork. The sound of his phone going off gave him sheer delight at the thought of having an excuse to stop. The delight faded once he saw who was calling. Sighing Lestrade answered Sherlock's call.

What do you want Sherlock?

_Is John with you?_

No, why?

_Damn!_

Is something wrong?

_I've got to go._

Wait, what's going on? Is everything alright? Sherlock!

Greg was met with a dial tone.

"He's worried. Shit."

Sherlock couldn't deny it, he was worried. Lestrade had no idea what was going on and Mrs. Hudson hadn't seen him since this morning. There was only one person left to go to. In all honesty Sherlock would rather die than stoop down to such a low level and ask the man. But this was John. After three rings there was an answer.

_You must really be in a bind if you are contacting me brother dear._

Cut the shit Mycroft.

_Someone is in a foul mood._

Are you with John?

_I talked with him yesterday._

Did you get him to do something that would get him into trouble?

_Is he in trouble?_

Mycroft.

There was silence over the phone.

_I'll help you look for him. Greg and I should be able to come up with something._

Since when are you on terms with Lestrade?

_That is none of your business little brother. Now run along and check with John's coworkers. _

Sherlock scoffed at the phone before putting on his scarf and grabbing his coat. He raced down the stairs, shrugging into it.

John's coworkers were useless in gaining information. All that they could give was that he didn't act strange at all, and that he left at his usual time. Sherlock was walking the rout John would take if he walked back to the flat from work. He was just about ready to throw something. His aggravation flared, so the detective took a sudden turn down into an alley to find something he could mangle in frustration. Just as he was about to throw the lid to a trashcan, his phone rang. It was Mycroft.

_We found him. He's battered but ok. _

What happened? Where is he?

_Greg is sending you directions. And do hurry Sherlock; the poor bloke was pulled right off the street by a big man who seemed to take a lot of pleasure in beating the shit out of him._

Who was it?

_Not sure. Could've been a criminal trying to get to you, or it could have just been a random thug. The latter seems to make the most sense though._

Sherlock had heard all that he needed to hear; he hung up without another word spoken. His phone went off as soon as he pushed the end button, indicating he had a message. It was the directions from Lestrade-leading him to an alleyway that was annoyingly very near to Bakers street. He immediately ran out of the alley to hail a cab.

John groaned as he came to. His entire body hurt like hell.

"I swear, the next time I see that man I'm giving him what for." The doctor seethed. He moved his arm to prop himself up and hissed in pain. It was almost as if he had been shot again. Not being able to do anything else, John stayed on his side and just focused on breathing easily to fight through the pain.

John lay in the alley, not sure how much time was passing as he drifted in and out of consciousness. After what seemed like hours-and probably was, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching rapidly. At the sight of a very similar coat, Johns sighed in relief and looked up at Sherlock.

"How did you find me?"

"I'll explain later, come one." Sherlock leaned down to help John up, but he could barely stand. With a sigh Sherlock swept his best friend into his arms and headed for the flat.


	6. A promise

"John! What happened?" Sherlock swept right past Mrs. Hudson and continued up the stairs.

"No need to worry Mrs. Hudson. John was just conveniently near the thug that decided he was bored." Sherlock was talking over his shoulder, sending their landlady a reassuring smile.

"He looks awful!"

"Just bruised."

"Sherlock that was not a coincidence," John whispered. The detective's head whipped back around and he looked at John.

"Explain when Mrs. Hudson is gone," he whispered back tightly. Sherlock carried his boyfriend up to his room and stepped aside to let Mrs. Hudson fuss over John. When she left, Sherlock immediately went over to John and sat on his bed, demanding answers.

"Why did he come after you? What did he want from me?"

"Why do you assume he was trying to get to you?"

"Consulting Detective? I send people to jail?"

"He was strictly after me." Sherlock was taken aback.

"Why? Who was he?" John sighed and rubbed his face.

"He's sort of from the war; the opposing side obviously. We were patrolling when our front car drove over a bomb. All hell broke loose as I dashed to the car to  
help the soldiers that were in it. When I got there I found that none of them had survived." John paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "They were firing at us from the direction we had come from. None of them noticed the single soldier sneaking up from the way we were going. It was obvious that they thought that they would only need one guy, but they didn't think about the patrol having someone like me. The man moving down the road noticed I was at the wreckage and charged, running at me with a knife. On instinct I grabbed one of the fallen soldier's guns and shot him. He fell dead after one bullet." John's mind was racing. He could hear the shots; see the scene play out as if he was still there. He gripped the sheets and closed his eyes in an attempt to pull himself together, but he had never been able to fight off the fear and anxiety that came with his war memories. Seeing his boyfriend's distress, Sherlock laid down next to him, enveloping him in his arms. After a couple minutes John continued. "The man that attacked me said he was the soldier's brother. He said that he was angry, and frustrated. He said that even though he wanted to kill me he wasn't going to, because he wasn't smart enough to hide from the police. So he opted for the next best thing and beat the shit out of me. When I woke up I said I would beat the guy in turn if I ever saw him again, but that's not true. It was just the anger at being beat up talking. The man did it for closure. I hope he found it."

"John." He looked up and Sherlock kissed him softly. It was slow and rhythmic, unlike the kisses they usually shared-which were fast and heated. This kiss was more for comfort than pleasure. It spoke a silent promise; a promise of togetherness, of love and support. And it was this kiss that made John certain that with Sherlock by his side, one day he would be rid of his PTSD.


	7. Don't be scared

Hey ya'll!

So as you might have noticed, my past one-shots in this series have kind of been in some sort of chronological order-things happen later(the next one-shot takes place some time after the last) This one isn't like that. It's another scenario of first Johnlock interaction(furthering their relationship) An AU in an AU!

I wrote it with my friend Sheep over text and modified it just a little bit(barely anything at all) to be more "official" fanfic like.

After this I'll go back to the ongoing loose storyline of my other one-shots (look forward to sic-fics and nightmares!-great opportunities for fluff. And I may sometime in the future I might give you guys some more attempted lemon)

so that's it for notes. Pocket Martin says ENJOY

* * *

John was fast asleep, having a pleasant dream-Sherlock actually went out to buy milk and jam-when he was woken up by the sound of a violin. Sleepily, he made his way to the living room.

"Sherlock, it's two in the morning you do realize. Now is not the time to be playing the violin." Sherlock stopped abruptly and turned to him.

"I couldn't sleep. I thought going to the store would tire me but it didn't, so I made tea. But I still couldn't sleep, so now I'm playing my violin. Tea?"

"Sher-" John stopped; knowing saying anything further was pointless. "Sure, I'll have some tea." Sherlock walked over with a cup. "What you were playing-did you write that?"

"Yes, I got bored with other composers. They were too ordinary." John sat down on the couch with the cup of tea. As soon as he did, Sherlock plopped down with his head in his friend's lap. John looked down at his flat mate and blushed.

"W-what are you doing?" he stammered. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'm trying to get comfortable, obviously."

"By laying your head in my lap?"

"Precisely." John's hands started shaking. He wasn't the best at hiding this sort of thing. Then again, what could be hidden from Sherlock? The tea in his hands tipped, spilling some of its contents onto the carpet. Sherlock, thankfully, chose to ignore it. "You're nervous John."

"What? No I'm not."

"Don't try to hide it John. You know you can't keep anything from me." John gulped.

"Then do you know why I feel nervous?" John was beyond nervous-he was terrified. He had never meant for his feelings to be known. Sherlock was only ever interested in his cases. If John were to confess he would be rejected in a heartbeat. Sherlock looked at John with slight annoyance. Of course he knew why, thought John. He's always known. Sherlock took John's hand in his and held it tightly to stop it from shaking. His face softened.

"Don't be scared." He whispered. John looked down into his crushes eyes; eyes that, at the moment, looked soft and warm, and inviting. (Compelling even)

"Sherlock I-" Sherlock shook his head.

"You don't need to say anything John."

"But-" Sherlock put his hand on his cheek, silencing John again. He slid it to the back of John's neck as he pulled his head up to his. John gasped as Sherlock's face got closer. He was even more terrified now. The doctor didn't know what to do. He'd never had the biggest sex life; let alone _anything_ besides what had to do with friendship with another man. He kept watching Sherlock's face get closer and closer until he could feel Sherlock's breath on his own. John knew his heart was in his throat, and he was positive Sherlock could hear it. Smirking, Sherlock turned his face and kissed John's cheek. He knew that John was scared of what he was feeling, so Sherlock didn't want to push him.

John just sat there in shocked silence, his face scarlet. Sherlock got off the couch, and John watched him walk out of the living room. Sherlock stopped in the door frame and gave John a small smile.

"Good night John." He turned and went to his room, leaving John sitting frozen on the couch. All John could do was sit there with his mouth hanging open. He was still shocked. He'd always be shocked. Sherlock just kissed him. _Sherlock _did, of his own accord-no experiment. It was simply him reacting to the heat of the moment, responding to John's more than nervousness. "And close your mouth, you'll catch flies." Sherlock shouted from his room. John immediately snapped his mouth shut. After finally collecting himself, he returned to his room as well. They were both still-lying on their respective beds, wondering what the future held. John and Sherlock smiled to themselves and rolled over, closing their eyes. Sleep took them instantly.


	8. He's not a machine

This chapter has some angst, but I tried to make it up to you with fluff in here too

**Oh! So, remember don't be scared? Well I have now written another chapter that goes along that timeline and have created a separate series for it. So if you're interested check out One Step Closer**

**And if any of you are Mystrade fans I might be making a series like this for them as well. **

I think that's all the news I have for now. So enjoy my lovelies!

* * *

John was sitting in his favorite chair, updating his blog, when Sherlock walked through the living room.

"Why are you soaking wet?" Sherlock stopped and looked at John absently.

"Why am I wet?" he restated, sniffing after.

"Yes, why are you wet?"

"Oh, chased a killer into a river. The water was freezing." John looked at Sherlock like he was insane.

"Sherlock!" Said man flinched at his boyfriend's volume, stopping John from speaking further. "Sherlock?" John put his laptop aside. "Are you alright?" he asked as he walked to his flat mate.

"Uh, yeah." Sherlock's answer was followed by a sneeze and another sniffle. John put his hand on Sherlock's arm.

"You've been acting slightly off the past couple of days. Have you been feeling well?" Sherlock shook off his hand.

"I've been fine John."

"Really?" The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, really," Sherlock answered, turning away from John.

"Then how is it that you're radiating heat when you were just in a freezing cold river?" Sherlock kept silent as he slowly made his way to his room. "You can't even walk normally. Honestly Sherlock, why did you go into that river when you haven't been feeling well?"

"John." Sherlock said faintly.

"You know I'm not stupid, and you know I'm a doctor. Even if you don't tell me you're under the weather I'm going to find out."

"John."

"What?" John whirled around to see Sherlock stagger, right himself, and then start to sway on his feet. Immediately he shot forward and caught Sherlock as he started to fall-easing him to the floor and onto his lap. "I never thought the day would come when Sherlock Holmes fainted." He shook his head.

_Best get him to bed and see what exactly is wrong with him._

Sherlock woke up and moaned, making himself cringe as he cradled his head. He was in so much pain. John appeared in the doorway, looking at his boyfriend in pity.

"Hey Sherlock," he said quietly. Sherlock just grunted in response, curling in on himself further. "How does your stomach feel? Want to see if you can keep some pain pills down?" The detective whimpered and John padded to the kitchen.

* * *

At first John didn't know whether Sherlock had a serious illness or a common cold. His boyfriend's current symptoms were just too broad. But as time passed Sherlock showed signs of more symptoms-helping the doctor narrow it down. He already knew about the fever, dizziness, fatigue and imbalance once Sherlock had gotten home from his case. The headache was evident when he woke up from his fainting spell, and when John had come back with tea and toast he found out about the pain and discomfort. It was later that night (A little after twelve precisely) that John discovered the chills while he was checking on the detective.

This made John think that Sherlock had the flu, but they had just gotten their vaccinations last month. For the next hour the doctor was glued to his laptop-sitting in his chair in the living room-scouring the internet for possible diagnoses. John had complied a list of possibilities and was reading through it-trying to keep Sherlock's habits and general health behaviors in mind-when he came across Lyme disease. It was something children generally got seeing as they are much more active in a way that could put them at risk, but Sherlock was just as active in that field. Just recently they had been traipsing through the woods for the case Sherlock had just finished. Lyme disease was something that was rare, but if you got it and it was left to its own devices it could get really serious really fast.

And so Sherlock Holmes, feeling the worst he ever remembers feeling, was woken up from much needed sleep.

"Sherlock I need you to get up." He curled in on himself and whined.

"John."

"I know you don't feel well but you have to get up. I need you to cooperate with me." Sherlock just huffed and let himself be dragged out of bed-shaking like a leaf.

"What do I even have to do?"

"Take your clothes off."

"What? Why?" the detective whined again.

"I have to check you for ticks." Sherlock stood as still as he could while John stripped him down. After scouring the taller man's body, John found a deer tick with a target mark around it. "Well shit. Stay here, I've got to get the tweezers."

* * *

A couple days later Sherlock felt well enough to leave his bed. So at eleven o'clock in the morning he emerged into the living room decked in flannel pajamas and wrapped in a heavy blanket. The detective happened upon Detective Inspector Lestrade and John leaning over a file on the couch. They looked up at the sound of Sherlock's careful steps.

"Sherlock," Lestrade grinned grimly. "just the man I wanted to see." John shot him a hard look before turning back to his boyfriend.

"How are you feeling sweetie?" The blogger smiled at Sherlock.

"I'm not as cold, and the pain is almost bearable." He sniffed.

"Sit down; I'll get you some tea and toast."

"So Sherlock, I know you're sick and all, but I really need your help on this case." John's voice drifted out from the kitchen.

"Uh-uh, no way." John leaned around the corner. "He's sick Greg. Just look at him." The DI turned back to Sherlock. Despite the layer, he was shaking a little. "The poor bloke still cringes when someone talks."

"But John-"

"No Sherlock."

"Come on John, I need him. He could just work out a few things here in the flat."

"I said know. Knowing Sherlock he'll run around all of London to solve the case and his Lyme kisease could get worse."

"I'll be careful."

"As your doctor I say no, and that is final."

"I'll just-"

"What you have is serious." John had to try so hard not to yell so he wouldn't hurt Sherlock's head. His voice became deathly quiet. "If you don't take care of yourself you could die."

"I think that might be a little extreme. Sherlock's got a strong immune system." John's next words formed before his brain could process them. He couldn't keep himself from shouting.

"You promised you wouldn't leave me ever again Sherlock!" The men stared at John in shock. The hurt in Sherlock's eyes reflected John's. "You promised," he whispered.

"John I-" Sherlock's voice was just as quiet. John just shook his head, his eyes glimmering as he turned, and walked up to his room. Sherlock fumbled with his blanket before standing up. Trying not to trip over the blanket, he walked to the stairs. Two thirds of the way up the stairs Sherlock stumbled in his haste and fell on the stairs, emitting a loud band. John rushed out immediately to see his boyfriend curled in on himself. He gasped.

"Oh Sherlock, honey." The shorter man sat down next to the taller one. Sherlock sat up and turned to John.

"John-I'm…sorry." John smiled softly.

"It's okay Sherlock."

"But it's not okay." John just leaned over and kissed him softly. For a few seconds they were lost in each other-lips sliding. John's hands were in Sherlock's hair, and Sherlock's were behind his neck.

"What do you say to tea, toast, and crap telly?" Sherlock smiled.

"Sounds great."

With an arm over John's shoulders, and an arm around Sherlock's waist, they walked back to the living room; and John helped Sherlock into his chair. Before heading to the kitchen, the blogger kissed his detective on the forehead.

"Love you," he whispered.

"Love you."

Well aware that he was intruding, Greg let himself out. He ran into Mrs. Hudson on the way out.

"Oh, hello dear. Haven't seen you in a while." Greg returned her smile.

"It's nice to see you Mrs. Hudson." He looked back up the stairs. "Well, I best be off. Have a good day."

"You too dear. Oh, and Greg?" Lestrade turned around in the doorway.

"Hm?"

"Make sure you treat Sherlock well. he may have trouble conveying his emotions, but he's not a machine." The Detective Inspector smiled.

"I'm beginning to see that."


	9. At his beck and call

In had to wait to post this because I (AGAIN) left my laptop charger at my Dad's. But I got it back so it's all good.

Since my brain exploded with ideas I present you with two new chapter-having nothing to do with each other. And if any of you follow One Step Closer-don't worry I haven't forgotten about you-I've got an update coming soon for you guys too.

YAY!

I'm also starting another Johnlock story. You can't stop inspiration. For the longest time I've had a tittle and lyrics I got the idea from, but no story. Now I've finally come up with one!

Also, if you're a Mystrade fan I've started a series for them too. It'll be like this one. (one-shots)

YAY!

So yeah, that's enough of my rambling here. Have some rambling in the form of a one-shot XD

* * *

John tossed and turned, and moaned and groaned. The soldier whimpered and talked-sometimes shouted-in his sleep. Suddenly he shot up, screaming until his voice became hoarse. When his screams died out he was reduced to shaking and pulled his legs in-resting his head on his knees. Tears started to stream down his face as he desperately tried to breathe easily. John was so used to having Sherlock there to help him through his nightmares that he had forgotten how to deal with them on his own.

Earlier that night-after they had retreated to Sherlock's room and gone to bed-Sherlock suddenly leapt up; saying something about lose ends and the case and he would be right back. So now John was stuck, alone, and he couldn't remember for the life of him how he used to get through his nightmares.

John tuned his head and saw his phone through his tears. Maybe if he knew when Sherlock was going to get home, the anticipation would distract him and calm him down. In reality he really just wanted his boyfriend. So with shaking hands he texted Sherlock.

Sherlock was in the middle of talking to one of his homeless network, when he heard his phone chime with a text. The text tone was John's and he immediately took it out of his pocket.

John was texting him in the middle of the night, which meant he was awake, obviously. He knows I'm out wrapping up a case and therefore would not wonder where I was. But why is he awake? He could be texting because of a client but that again leads to the question of why he is up, so it's not likely. He wakes up in the middle of the night from nightmares.

When Sherlock looked at the message he was further assured his deduction was correct.

The text asks when I'm getting home. Not a sign of worry for me, but a sign he wants me there. John normally doesn't bother me when I'm out on a case. There are extra letters among the message randomly, which would indicate unsteady hands. John shakes when his nightmares are particularly bad.

Sherlock pocketed his phone.

"I've got to go. I'll contact you later."

With that he briskly turned on his heel and made his way to the road to get a taxi.

John's state hadn't changed when Sherlock walked into their room. He still hadn't managed to take steady breaths. Sherlock's deductions were confirmed, and he swiftly toed of his shoes, yanked of his coat and scarf-abandoning them on the floor-and climbed onto the bed. The detective wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, and in turn the blogger burrowed into him. Sherlock alternated between speaking to John in a hushed tone and humming into his hear; all the while rubbing his back, stroking fingers through the greying blonde's hair, and slowly rocking John back and forth. Occasionally he planted kiss on the doctor's head. Eventually John calmed down and sat there, breathing into Sherlock's chest as he continued the soothing pattern. John took one final deep, calming breath, signaling Sherlock that he could stop.

"Better?" John mimicked his soft tone.

"Yeah."

"Good."

They sat there, as Sherlock hummed and ran his fingers through John's hair absently; and John rested against him, letting the detective support his weight. When John had drifted back to sleep, Sherlock laid him down under the covers and wrapped himself back around him. The detective kissed his blogger once more, and buried his face into the back of his neck.

"Good night John."

"Night Sherlock," John slurred, tongue thick with sleep. "Love you," he yawned. Sherlock smiled.

"Love you


	10. Mycroft's camera feed

I wrote this when I was feeling depressed to make myself feel better. And what beats making yourself feel happy through mindless Johnlock fluff?

T_T Nothing. That's what T_T

JK, not really. Other things can make me happy too.

Anyway-your fluff!

WAIT! One (two) quick announcement.

I have started another-yes another-I know-everyone collectively groan cause now updates could be slower since i'll be writing even more stories-but collectively squeal too cause you get more stories and that's exciting-Johnlock fic.

AND! I've started a Mystrade fic if you're interested.

So expect those at some point.

Now you can read.

* * *

John hugged himself as he shivered in the cold.

"Meet me in the park he said. It'll be fun he said. I'll be there in a minute he said," John grumbled.

An hour before Mike had called him out of the blue. He had sounded so enthusiastic over the phone that John couldn't help but agree to meet him for a drink. But now John was stuck sitting in the cold, and Mike was thirty minutes late. To make matters worse, John had been running late himself; and in his haste he forgot to bring his jacket. Still John sat there, Mike's text saying he was on his way keeping him there.

The doctor was excepting the fact that he was going to die of hypothermia, when he sensed what felt like a coat drape over his shoulders. His nostrils were filled with a familiar scent as warmth settled around him. John looked up.

"Sherlock, what are you doing here?"

"Mycroft sent me a text saying he saw you sitting here-looking rather cold-on his camera feed. Now why don't we go home?" John sighed.

"I can't. I have to wait for Mike. He wanted to go out for drinks."

"If he's this late then he's not trying hard enough and therefore not worth your time."

"But-"

"I will not let my boyfriend sit out here and catch his death." Sherlock smiled softly." "What do you say we go home, make some tea, get the fire going, and snuggle up in front of it?"

John smiled and kissed his boyfriend on the cheek.

"Sounds wonderful."

And so Sherlock took John in his arms, and together they went home, where a much anticipated night awaited them.

* * *

Tell me if you want me to continue this.

I might be willing to write their anticipated evening ;)

But seriously guys, don't be afraid to leave a review.

The honestly make my day and make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside :3

And that feeling is always welcome :3


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